


Three Strikes and You're Out

by partiallydeadkierenwalker



Category: Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Not about sports, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 20:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5941975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partiallydeadkierenwalker/pseuds/partiallydeadkierenwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone gets three possible soulmates in their lifetime, be they mortal or otherwise.<br/>Whenever you're read for love, a name will appear on your wrist. When you lose one of your soulmates, to death or difficulty, their name is crossed out. Eventually, the next one will appear.</p><p>Magnus, an immortal warlock, has already had two soulmates, and neither of those relationships worked out so well. They all started great. It was exciting, liberating, wonderful. But then things turned sour. Magnus, centuries old, is cynical and lonely, having spent the last century in solitude, but just when he thinks it's all over for him, he meets Alec Lightwood, and, with him, everything is better than Magnus ever could have imagined.</p><p>Alec is on his second soulmate. His first had been a complete nightmare; enough to turn him against the whole concept of soulmates. Jace hadn't been even a little bit interested in him. He'd refused to even try. Instead, Jace had hit the streets, desperately searching for another One. Alec doesn't have high hopes when he meets Magnus Bane, who is miles out of his league. He's ready for another rejection. That isn't what he gets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Comments greatly appreciated! Thanks!

Magnus stared blankly at Camille as she crawled out of the bed. She was already in the bathroom when she realised Magnus was not following. She retraced her steps, standing in the doorway of her en-suite, one hand on her hip. She was beautiful, there was no use denying it. She was probably the most beautiful woman Magnus had ever been with, and she was so strong, so brave, so independent. That was what he’d loved about her the most.

There was really nothing more attractive than a woman who would never need you. This woman was a dare dressed in nothing.

Magnus looked down at his hands and wasn’t surprised by what he saw printed on his left wrist: another crossed out name. _Camille Belcourt_ , in elegant, curling calligraphy; crossed with a crude line. A new name was written beneath Camille’s; this one with an endearingly simple signature. No showmanship or flare, only a name; long enough to almost circle his wrist. _Alexander Gideon Lightwood_. Magnus smiled softly, through his fresh heartbreak. He cast his eyes up to Camille and, for the first time, felt that he could do better. Not in terms of looks, perhaps, because Camille really was beautiful, but she was a bad person, and Magnus generally considered himself to be a pretty good person.

He braced himself for one last fight with this woman, but spoke with easy confidence he wears like armour. “You might want to take a look at your wrist, Camille, darling.”

Camille was briefly surprised, brows high and eyes uncomprehending. Her lips part, then frown decisively, and she raises her left wrist as if she's just going through the motions; she already knows what she'll find there. Three crossed out names. There's a long, labouring moment of silence and and then she almost sways on the spot, slumps against the doorframe in a fit of exhaustion. “Fuck,” She breaths, then again, louder, “Fuck.” She turns away, runs a hand through her hair, mainly as an excuse not to look at the names anymore. She walks into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Magnus is distracted from staring at his new name until he hears telltale signs of her exhaustion turning to rage. Sharp kicks at the bathtub leave dents and craters behind; their perfumes are thrown to the tiled floor where they shatter and mix; the mirror breaks into segments as she crashes her coiled fist into her reflection. Magnus can't think of anything he'd like to do less than confront Camille Belcourt right then, so he remained on on the bed even after she swung the door open again and stood there, glaring at him.

"Well, I'm out." She snaps, as if he'd done this maliciously.

Magnus sighs and looks away so he won't have to look at her. He doesn't love her, not anymore, but there's a fondness for her in his heart still. She's been his companion for so long, he almost can't remember who he was before they found each other. He doesn't want to remember her like this; brutal and wild, and not in a good way. When she turned that scalding look on him, he could see through all the prettiness and civility she possessed. He could see her for the vampire she was; the ferocious, predatory creature of shadows and ghost stories. There she stood, bold as brass and completely naked. She had no reason to be meek; Magnus knew her body as well as she did, and she'd never been shy around anyone in her life. Magnus stood from the bed, feeling too vulnerable there, and dragged his hand through his hair, uncomfortable.

"What?" Camille snarls. She paces the room- no, she prowls. She watches him like a big cat, threatening to end him at any moment. "You've suddenly got nothing to say, Bane?" She ravages her pretty hair with her hands until its all a mess. "We're  _happy_ , but, what, that's not enough for you? Why are you doing this to me? You  _love me_ , why are you doing this? No one falls out of love like that, Bane. Like, last night everything was fine and now, all of a sudden,  _this_!" She points angrily at her wrist, at that sad list of loves she'll never get back.

She's hysterical and mad and pissed. The worst thing is that Magnus sympathises. He understands. He knows that he'll be in this position someday. He'll have exhausted his options too, and he doesn't know whether he'll be able to take it any better than Camille. Now she faces the rest of eternity with no hope of ever loving anyone again- not like this, not with the kind of passion that burns you up and makes you want to live and die at once. The best she can hope for is a loyal human subjugate; someone to kiss her mouth and adore her and run her errands- but it won't be the same as  _this_ , what she and Magnus had. All her soulmates are gone now. Two dead, and one through with her.

She'd watched two human soulmates die in her lifetime. She'd been so earnestly happy when she met Magnus and knew, without a single doubt in her mind, that she wouldn't have to lose this one too. She'd won the goddamn lottery. Her last soulmate, immortal just like her. He wouldn't leave her like the last two had and now  _this_. This was worse than that, too. At least the last two had died before they could wise up to her wretchedness; at least they'd died and not just fallen out of love. At least they'd died and not gone on to love someone else.

Magnus felt bad for her, but relieved too. This wasn't it for him.  _Camille_ wasn't it for him. He would get a chance at happiness with someone else- someone less complicated, less spiteful. But that pity in his chest made him almost wish he could rub out that line. It made him wish he could be it for her.

He tried to reason with her. "You know this isn't all my fault. Things haven't been right with us for a long time." He bends to collect his boxers, pulls them on, lingers awkwardly by the bed. "This is clearly over, Camille. Lets just get on with it. I'm going home." He knows the rest of his clothes are around  _somewhere_ , but he honestly can't be bothered to look for them, and he really just wants to get away from this new ex as soon as possible. Break-ups are always horrible.

He sets to work drawing out a portal.

He'll go to his apartment in Brooklyn. People like him in Brooklyn. He hasn't been there in a couple decades though, not since the eighties brought about some regrettable interior design fads he'd rather forget. He'll have to redecorate.

Camille has stopped pacing now. She stands with her arms folded defensively across her chest and asks in a sour voice, "Who's the lucky name?"

He holds out his hand to her.

She gingerly crosses the room and takes his hand in her cold grip. "Alexander Gideon Lightwood," She mumbled, then pauses, the cogs in her brain turning. She almost laughs aloud when she realises why that name seems so familiar. She smirks and drops Magnus' hand. She turns away, almost grinning. This is something like revenge, something like karma. "Lightwood..." She says haughtily, then glances over her shoulder at him, "That's a shadowhunter name, isn't it?" 

Magnus doesn't have to think about it. "Yes." He's met enough Lightwoods in his time.

"What a pity." She says jovially, a skip returning to her step. She perches herself on the foot of the bed, looking at her long red fingernails. "What a shame."

Magnus says nothing. He turns back to his work.

"Magnus, honey, maybe you should just stay here?" She says demurely, straightening her shoulders. "A shadowhunter is no kind of lover for you. They're all such dreadful prudes, and so  _boring_. Really they're not very much fun at all."

Magnus hums but doesn't otherwise respond. He knows she's partially right. Some shadowhunters  _are_ stuffy bigots- but not all of them.

"And they're  _mortal_ , darling." She sighs like she's sorry for him, but she's still grinning ear to ear. "You don't want a  _mortal_ soulmate, honey, believe me. And shadowhunters die so young! You'll hardly get to be with him at all. You'd really better stay with me."

Magnus hums again, but the portal is nearly ready. She isn't wrong here, either. He knows he'll be lucky to know the poor kid six months before he dies at the claws of some beastly thing from another dimension.

Magnus turns to her after a moment, the portal glimmering blue behind him, and smiles as earnestly as he can. "Maybe I'll look you up one day, darling." He walks to her, leans close, presses a chaste kiss to her cheek. He pulls back and they're stuck there in each other's eyes for a long moment. Magnus wants to remember her like this; beautiful and unabashed; strong and enduring. He tries to forget her anger and resentment and spite, but finds they're as big a part of her as all her loveliness. He was sorry, in a way, to be losing her. She'd been such a constant in an ever shifting world. His life would be emptier without her.

But that was what it was to be immortal; to live a life forever meaning less and less until, someday not long before the sun burned them all up once and for all, it meant hardly anything at all.

And with that thought, he resigned himself to look forward to this particular change. It would bring happiness and excitement and dashing shadowhunters into his life. It would not be the end of everything.

Thoughtful, she watched Magnus Bane turn from her and head back to his portal. "I think you were my favourite." She said blandly, "Out of the three, I mean. You're certainly the prettiest, anyway." Her smile turned indecent, "And definitely the best in bed."

"Thanks." Magnus said, smiling despite everything. He knew what she was doing. She was looking at him with those distracting eyes and trying to bend his intentions. A mundane would be putty in her hands, sure, but this was Magnus Bane she was dealing with. She really ought to know better.

* * *

Alec should not wish there was no such thing as soulmates. Being bitter and lonely and jilted was no reason to resent the rest of the globe genuine love and happiness. Loving someone unrequitedly, though, was a pretty sound way of making someone lose all faith in the very concept of soulmates.

He'd found his first soulmate when he was young, and he'd loved him so damn much-  _too much_ \- but the guy could hardly stand the sight of Alec. So sure of being a hundred percent heterosexual, he'd just ignored the male name on his wrist until it crossed itself out. Everything bended to Jace's will, Alec thought irritably, even the universe. Jace had been so sure he couldn't ever love Alec in that way, he'd never stopped looking for a new One since. He looked with a vengeance, a determination completely alien to Jace in every other aspect of his life. Alec had never seen him so single minded. He shook his handsome head and the universe waved a white flag and said " _alright, alright, our bad, we take it back!"_ leaving just a crossed out name on their left wrists; an unwelcome reminder to the both of them

And Alec- despite all his declarations of understanding Jace and feeling the same way- is so  _angry_. At sixteen, he found himself one name down, and he hadn't even gotten to  _try_.

Alec knows the facts and statistics of soulmates. He's done his research, read the lore, searched the web. Everyone in the world- mortal, immortal, mundane and otherwise- gets three names in their lifetime. Or, rather, a maximum of three names. Someone people never get past number one. Alec's own brother, Max, had died before he even got one. But, as to the facts, Alec knew that he had at most two more attempts ahead of him. Two more rolls of the dice. One day, another name will just appear on Alec's wrist overnight, and the whole horrible affair will start over.

When Alec found Jace's name on his wrist, he was ecstatic. Jace was his best friend, and the coolest person Alec had ever known. He was great at everything, and good looking, and he had one of those easy smiles that made you willing to jump off a building if you thought it might impress him (Alec had done this more than once in the past, each time earning an  _iratze_ from Jace and feeling very content).

Still, he knew, from the beginning that it was wrong, that it was forbidden. They were parabatai. The clave would frown on any romantic intentions between parabatai- would banish them, strip them off their runes.

There was something romantic about that, though, in a way. They were like star-crossed lovers. Sixteen year olds love that Romeo and Juliet shit, and Alec hadn't been immune.

He'd been infatuated with this boy too long to not give into this sudden hope of their being together. He'd spent years pining for a boy who was almost aggressively heterosexual, who Alec had always knows would never love him back, not the way Alec wanted him to. Miserable and guilty, he'd never been told it was okay to like boys the way Jace always went on and on about liking girls. No one had explained that love was about more than conventions and gender. 

So, just when he was most miserable about his lot, something incredible happened. He woke up, went to brush his teeth, and saw something odd in his peripheral. A smudge or something on his left wrist. He looked, and was so shocked he couldn't read it for a second. A name. He'd only ever seen names on other people. His mother had one on her wrist, and his father had two. He'd never read the second name; it had just appeared when he and Maryse were particularly unhappy; when the kids were woken by them fighting late at night, and Robert would go away for weeks on end, " _working_." No one ever brought the other name out. Eventually Alec caught sight of his father's wrist and was surprised to see that both names were crossed out now. He didn't love Alec's mother anymore, but he was still there, and that had been the first time Alec really doubted the whole  _soulmate_ thing.

His confusing love for Jace confirmed his cynicism, and drove Alec to an admittedly sad conclusion; soulmates were overestimated, unrealistic, and nothing but a pleasant lie people liked to believe in, just to make their lives seem a little more meaningful and romantic.

But then, all of a sudden, there was a name on his wrist, and Alec forgot all his doubts and worries and he dropped his toothbrush in the sink and slammed his shoulder against the bathroom doorframe in his haste to get out, to find Jace. This was all the validation he'd never been given. This was the universe at large telling him that he was okay and not weird for thinking of his best friend the way he did. They were _soulmates_ , and not even the Clave, not even his dad, could tell him otherwise. It was right there, on his wrist, clear as day. Jace wasn't in his bedroom, or the kitchen. Alec finally found him in the training room; sweaty and shirtless and in the midst of a workout. Jace was fourteen at the time and, in hindsight, probably not much to look at, but to Alec he was the most beautiful person in existence.

Alec had stood there in the doorway, watching him with a stupid, embarrassing grin on his face. All that feeling of urgency had suddenly vanished. Now it felt as though Alec had nothing but time. As though _this_ \- Alec and Jace- was a sure thing and there was no need to rush anything. 

And, by the Angle, Jace had Alec's name on his wrist, too. It was so obvious, but it still sent a thrill through him when he saw it there; when Jace turned and saw him and smiled and gestured for him to come over, and his own name was _there_ , marking Jace Herondale as his own.

But Jace hadn't seen it yet. That was apparent in the way Jace grabbed Alec's wrist and pulled him over to the training mat to practice some move. It was so  _normal_. It wasn't the way soulmates reacted to something so monumental as a  _name_. This had amused Alec at the time. He'd found it funny that someone as vain as Jace could have gone so long without noticing a name tattooed on his wrist. Alec went willingly where Jace led him, still smiling weirdly. Alec couldn't be less interested in training.

And then Jace let go of Alec's wrist, fell back a step, squared his shoulders, and then he noticed the writing on his parabatai's wrist. He immediately made a little cheering noise and congratulated Alec. Jace clapped his shoulder with one hand and took his hand with the other, turning it over in so familiar a grip. Then he read the name, dropped Alec's hand as though it had stabbed him, and from then on nothing was the same between the two of them.

And not in the way Alec had hoped.

Jace was all furrowed eyebrows and petulant scowl. He backed away, uncomprehending for a moment, before it dawned on him just what this meant. He raised his own hand and read the name he hadn't noticed before, and for a second Alec really thought Jace was going to hit him. And not in the way he did when they were fighting when they trained, either. Jace, too, looked like he thought he might hit him. He settled for turning away and pacing, not able to even  _look_ at his parabatai. Alec stumbled back a step, as though he'd been pushed, and his brain whirred with confusion and questions and he couldn't understand what was happening. Why was Jace mad? Alec hadn't even thought it was possible for someones literal  _soulmate_ to react badly.

Jace rubbed his temples and muttered, "I'm not gay" under his breath. Jace looked weird, like he might throw up, and Alec felt a genuine concern for him. He stepped towards him, but Jace didn't want his help, not anymore.

"What the  _fuck_?" Jace said nastily, turning his own shocked anger at this easy target. His voice was raw and mean and barely even recognisable. Alec stopped. He didn't try to close the space between them. He stared at the floor, at his own pale feet, until Jace spoke again. "I'm not  _gay_ , Alec. You're not, are you? I don't get  _how_ this has happened." He shook his head, "Have you ever heard about the names being screwed up like this before?" Alec understood now. Jace felt cheated. He'd been robbed of a name, of a soulmate. He'd dreamt of a sweet girl and gotten, instead, Alec. It was a colossal disappointment to Jace who was, at heart, a romantic.

Alec was sure now that  _he_ was going to throw up. He turned away.

"This is crazy," Jace went on, still pissed. "I'm not gay. What the  _fuck_ is this supposed to mean?"

He went quiet for a moment, and Alec missed his chance to act along. He should have pretended there and then to be as baffled by this as Jace, to be just as angry and shocked and disgusted by the very notion of loving someone of his own gender. This was his shot to play it cool and be  _normal_ and salvage some part of their friendship. Alec was too busy trying not to throw up, though, to realise the importance of this moment, to realise what he  _should_ say. When he turned back to face Jace again, his parabatai was staring at him, suddenly pale. All the gold was gone from his complexion, and his jaw dropped a little.

Suddenly Jace was the one turning away, rubbing his temples again. " _I'm not gay_ _, Alec_." He made a noise like the very idea of being with Alec revolted him, and Alec felt tears stinging his eyes. " _No_."

And, just like that, Alec became bitter. He  _was_ angry, but not for the reason Jace was. No, Alec was pissed because Jace fucking Herondale was so stubborn, even the  _universe_ couldn't tell him what to do. Jace was a force of nature stronger even than the cosmic forces, than the Angel, than whatever the hell made soulmates exist.

Just like that, Alec lost that fleeting sense of contentment with himself, with the way he was.

He left Jace alone, and Jace didn't follow him, and, back in his bedroom, he looked at his wrist again, only to see that the name was crossed out.

 

 

Two years later, Jace can't look back on that day without feeling ashamed of himself. Defensive and angry, he'd screwed up a friendship that had meant so much to him. A partnership that would have made the both of them stronger. He didn't love Alec. He couldn't love Alec, no matter how much he sometimes willed it. He knew he'd been stupid to treat Alec so badly, to hurt him like that. Jace wished he could go back and react better. He should have been kind and gentle and let Alec down easy. Alec would never have treated Jace that way, had their roles been reversed, and Jace knew that.

It was just that, all his life, the dream of a soulmate who loved him had kept him going through all that shit with his dad. When he had nothing else, he at least had the notion that there was someone out there who was meant for him. And that someone had never been  _Alec_. They'd been a girl. It was just the way he'd pictured it. So, when he saw that name on his wrist, he sort of felt like Alec was stealing something from him.

The only language Jace spoke fluently was aggression and anger. On that day, he'd said things he could never take back.

It was stupid, and inexcusable. 

But it had happened.

They'd never been the same since.

And, for better or worse, he'd said all those mean, insensitive things to the one person he would let him get away with it; wouldn't hate him for it.

Their names were crossed out, like Robert and Maryse's. Like the name Jace could vaguely remember seeing on his father's wrist as a child. Alec wasn't dead, like his mother. They hadn't drifted apart over the course of years like Maryse and Robert.

It had begun and ended within an hour, because Jace had rejected him. Neither of them had even known that was a possibility, that you could be  _denied_ by a soulmate.

They avoided each other as long as they could, and then when they had to be in the same room as each other, they tried to act as though none of that had ever happened. Alec wore long sleeves even in the summer, and Jace took to wearing leather bracelets on his left wrist every single day.

Alec was convinced he even slept in the bracelets.

Finally, after many uncomfortable weeks, Jace apologised. He explained, as gently as possible, that he just wasn't into guys. Alec couldn't look him in the eyes while he spoke. He stared at his own hands and nodded when he was supposed to and mumbled an affirmative when Jace asked if he was okay. They went back to being parabatai and best friends and brothers, but it was never the way it had been when they were younger.

Izzy was the only person who knew. She'd known immediately that something had happened between them, and had she'd dragged the truth out of Alec after much badgering. She was in an awkward position. She loved Alec and Jace. She only wished her hothead brother could have been a little more tactile and saved Alec some unhappiness.

Isabelle Lightwood was perhaps the only one more of a cynic than Alec when it came to soulmates. She'd always known that romantic relationships of any kind could only end in heartbreak. She'd seen it happen to her parents, and then her brother, and it only convinced her more and more that she would never let herself fall victim to that pain.

At sixteen, Alec had already lost a soulmate. No, not  _lost_. He'd been  _rejected_ by a soulmate. All he'd lost was a name, and his childhood. He had no interest in getting another. He only wished that there was no such thing as a soulmate, so he wouldn't be constantly reminded of the most mortifying day of his life.

At eighteen, his feelings had not changed. The word  _soulmate_ was synonymous with  _heartbreak_ and  _rejection_ and he would be quite happy (or at least as close to that as was possible) if he lived the rest of his life without every getting another name. He never checked his wrist anymore, and kept it covered up at all times unless he was in the shower or sleeping. He would dedicate himself to his career and become an incredible shadowhunter. He would live a full life, never even considering love.

And then, as he lathered shampoo between his hands one morning, he saw what he dreaded most.

A name.

_Magnus Bane._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone sees this, I'm going to edit the 5 chapters of this fic I have, and then continue it from there. Im just not happy with the way it is, which is why I stopped writing it for so long :/  
> I really wanna get back to it though!
> 
> also, it was really difficult to think of which surname to use for jace (but imagine if soulmate name tattoos were a thing in canon, that would've saved about four books of conflict!)
> 
> edited: 20 sep 2017


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken so long!! I've been working on it for ages, and I just couldn't get it right. I'm still not 100% happy with it, and its shorter than I would like. I'm not been having a great time at the moment. Thank you everyone for all the great comments! I feel like the pressure is on now, ha.
> 
> edited: 22 sep 2017

Alec had heard the name before; he knew exactly who it belonged to. The notorious high warlock of Brooklyn. With a sister like Izzy, it had always been inevitable that he would know the names of all the great, famous, fashionable people in their city— especially if they threw parties so spectacular that Izzy would do nearly anything to get a spot on the guest list.

Apparently he was gorgeous and flamboyant and known all over the world. Magical in more ways than one. Largely considered to be among the most desirable bachelors New York City’s Downworld could boast.

So, obviously, _way_ out of Alec’s league.

 _Great_ , Alec thought irritably, _someone else to reject me_.

He had no doubt now of having not one but two crossed out names on his wrist by his next birthday.

Because in what world would someone like _Magnus Bane_ want someone like Alec Lightwood? Sexy warlocks weren’t interested in awkward virgins. People as worldly and exciting didn’t want to date people who only really left their homes to go on runs or join his siblings on missions.

He wondered what he’d done to deserve such unabashed hatred from the forces that be. Two names on his wrist, and neither of them would ever love him. This was worse than never getting a name at all.

He wondered how Magnus felt. He had to be standing in some dim-lit underground club or doing something exhilarating with friends; but now, he had to pause and look at his wrist and see the name there, and Alec cringed to imagine his reaction. 

A Shadowhunter name Magnus _had_ to be familiar with. Just the mention of it, in any circle, produced thoughts of its patriarch, Robert, and matriarch, Maryse, who were (unsurprisingly) far from popular in Downworld society. Any son of _theirs_ was obviously badly chosen for Magnus Bane.

Alec wouldn’t personally object to dating a Downworlder (a rare quality in Shadowhunters), so long as they were accord-abiding and nice. Downworlders were, generally speaking, not at all interested in Shadowhunters.

Magnus probably wouldn’t even want to meet him. By the end of the day, there would be a second crossed out name on his wrist. Alec tried not to let the thought bother him. What was it to him? Did he really want to date someone with a reputation like Magnus Bane anyway?

So Alec didn’t tell anyone.

He wore, as usual, a long sleeved jumper that hid his wrist.

It wasn’t at all hard to keep the secret. His parents avoided calling any attention to their son’s unfortunate sexuality, and Jace was still in denial about the whole soulmate incident— or just too embarrassed to bring it up. Izzy didn’t call any attention to soulmates out of compassion for her brother, and almost expected him to have learned from the last time so that he would somehow prevent ever getting another name. She wanted nothing for him but happiness and, in her book, that meant avoiding romantic love altogether.

Izzy, who had never been rejected in her life and had no names to speak of, didn’t understand that Alec could never really forget about the rejection. It sure didn’t help that he had to look at Jace everyday across the kitchen table.

Alec sometimes wondered whether Jace thought about it as much as he did, or if he really had forgotten all about it.

While it was sometimes easy to feel hard done by, Alec knew he was lucky. Most Shadowhunter families would have disowned their children as soon as they learnt the gender of their future son-or-daughter-in-law. Alec could very easily have found himself on the street, relying on the kindness of his kin (which could hardly be relied on), but instead things had carried on much the same as they had the first sixteen years of his life. Sure, sometimes Alec had to grit his teeth and listen to Robert’s lectures and advice and downright condemnation, but there was still a roof over his head and food on his plate. Sure, Maryse didn’t look him in the eyes as much as she used to, and she spent more time with Jace and Izzy, but she hadn’t _completely_ abandoned him.

Besides, if they shunned Alec, they’d had to shun Jace too, and Alec got the distinct feeling that his parents were about as likely to give up Jace as they were to give up the Institute. Jace was regarded by many as the greatest Shadowhunter of his generation; Maryse and Robert enjoyed the reflected glory too much to let it go for something Jace assured them he’d never wanted.

Robert seemed to think that Alec had _chosen_ to be gay, to let down the family name, just to spite them. Alec couldn’t find the words to describe just how ridiculous that was. He hadn’t had any more say in the matter than them and, honestly, why on earth would he have _chosen_ to love someone he could never have.

There was a part of him, though, that wanted to do what normal people did hen they got a name. He wanted to tell Izzy and revel in the sheer wonder and excitement of it for an hour or two. It was so clear, in his head, how his evening would go if he told her. She would forget about her usual hatred of the very concept of soulmates, and give into the thrill of imagining her brother on the arm of one of her idols. They would sit together on Alec’s bed and scroll through all Magnus’ social media accounts and Alec would blush at the sheer idea of someday _meeting_ him and looking at those eyes in person. Izzy would fantasise about all the invites she’d get to parties, and she’d secretly be so happy for her brother. She’d hope this was the Angel’s way of finally making amends for all he’d put Alec through. She’d hope she was wrong about love in general. 

Alec also knew, though, that Izzy definitely wouldn’t settle for just stalking the guy online. She’d refuse to listen to reason or admit that her beloved brother may not be Magnus’ type. She would get on the phone with Magnus’ people and she’d micro-manage a romantic first date and she’d insist on Alec wearing that blue sweater she bought him last Christmas. She thought blue looked good on him. Alec preferred black but wouldn’t be able to say no, and then he’d end up meeting Magnus and it would be huge disaster.

She’d probably climb up onto the fire escape of the apartment complex across the road from Magnus’ place and hang there like a bat with binoculars, watching them like a reality TV show.

And Alec definitely wasn’t ready for that. He just wanted to wait out the hours until the name crossed itself out and try not to get his hopes up. He’d mope around the Institute all his life, constantly in the shadow of the one he loved. Maybe someday Magnus would come to the Institute on Shadowhunter business and he and Jace would have a good laugh at Alec’s expense.

Alec didn’t tell anyone.

* * *

Magnus is in his old place again. He’s managed to keep himself distracted so far with redecorating and opening all the mail that had been shoved through his letterbox over the last few decades. The seed of loneliness is starting to take root though; as much as Magnus knew he was better off without someone as toxic as Camille in his life, there was a part of him that already missed her company.

The Chairman was sleeping soundly on a new armchair by the bookshelves, completely unconcerned with his owner’s failed relationship. In fact, the Chairman looked more content than ever. Camille had always yelled at him whenever he jumped up onto the furniture, so he’s quite happy to have finally seen the back of her.

Magnus is very tempted to wake his cat, just for something to do, but he doubts the Chairman would really do any more than blink sleepily up at him and then tuck his head back under his paw and go back to sleep.

He throws himself dramatically onto the red velvet chaise lounge and feels sorry for himself. He holds up his wrist and frowns at the name. _Alexander Gideon Lightwood_.

At first, he hadn’t seen any reason to be melancholy about the name, but it had dawned on him now that a Lightwood probably wouldn’t be so keen for a relationship with a downworlder. Magnus can’t deny being disappointed that his last chance of happiness has been tangled up in Shadowhunter politics. 

Magnus was surprised the name hadn’t crossed itself out within a half hour of revealing itself.

Magnus was tempted to not even bother (because what were the chances of the guy actually being interested?) but then reminded himself that his pride was definitely not worth more than the admittedly small chance of it all turning out great. He would take a horrendous rejection over an eternity of wondering what might’ve been.

Besides, he’s never been the shy type before, and he’ll be damned if he lets a Shadowhunter reduce him to such a self-loathing mess.

Not to mention, most of the Lightwood clan Magnus had met through his life had been remarkably good looking, so it was definitely worth the risk.

While Magnus had developed a sort of dictate for the Clave over the last few centuries, he isn’t blind to what an interesting anecdote a Shadowhunter soulmate could make. He could already see himself in the distant future, telling friends the crazy story of the last love of his life. They’d be sipping cocktails, or whatever drink was popular by the time Magnus had finally gotten over the hurt of losing him.

Shadowhunters are always interesting. They always live exciting (though short) lives. He hopes this one, this Alexander Gideon, will be less tragic than the others he’s known. He doesn't think he could _stand_ some poor, cursed kid like Will Herondale. Tessa had been an absolute saint to put up with him all those years.

And then its hard not to think about how Tessa had to watch the kid grow old and die, and Magnus wonders again whether this is really worth the effort or the pain.

He gets up. Moves a floor lamp this way and that, even though he could have done it with magic. He takes all the books off his bookshelf and puts them back in alphabetical order. He wanders around his flat, looking for _anything_ to do that will distract him from his thoughts.

He’s unsuccessful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited: 23 sep 2017

For someone celebrating her eighteenth birthday, she isn’t nearly as happy as she ought to be. Especially since the occasion was doubly important; she’d woken to thoughtful gifts, a special breakfast, and her first name.

There, on her left wrist, is the name of the man she’s destined to love. _Jonathan Christopher Herondale_. Its spelt out in a quick, restless hand, and looks a lot like a tattoo. She liked the way it looked there, on her wrist. It was the greatest birthday present she could have received, but it had brought about a good deal of agitation so far.

She’d had plans of spending the entire day with her best friend, but he’d been in a weird mood all day. She called him moments after seeing the name— the first person she told!— but he hardly even seemed happy for her. When he finally showed up (nearly an hour later than they’d arranged), he gave her her present and a card with a picture of a cat on it and a hastily written message inside. Then they just hung out for a while, but he was fidgety the whole time, and clearly annoyed about something, though he refused to talk to her about it. She decided he must have had a row with his mum or something. 

And then, totally out of the blue, he made an excuse and left. Apparently something had come up and the band needed his help. It was a weak lie, but Clary didn’t push it. He promised to pick her up later and they’d go to that club she’d been going on about for months. _Pandemonium_. That appeased her a bit, and planning what she’d wear at least gave her something to think about.

Simon wasn’t _at all_ looking forward to it, given that he was basically socially inept and bound to make a fool of himself in front of Clary and all the cool people there who would doubtless point and laugh. Everyone knew, though, that he would humiliate himself in front of the entire world, or burn his collectors edition comic books, if he thought it might bring a smile to Clary Fray’s face. So, of course he was going to take her to the club! He’d even do his best to put on a convincing smile!

But his smile was faker than ever as he made his excuses and left her alone on her birthday. He couldn’t bare to be around her, not when she only wanted to talk about this _Jonathan Christopher Herondale_ character. Not when she sat there in shorts and a t-shirt- Herondale’s smug name on clear display.

It was wrong to be jealous.

That didn’t stop him though.

He wandered around the city for a while before going home, and wondered why the universe had decided he wasn’t good enough for Clary Fray. He thought, personally, that they’d be good together. He thought all the best relationships started as friendships, and all their lives they’d been best friends. He felt already that he’d lost her. Like, how could he compare with her soulmate? How could he carry on being her best friend when she’d have someone so much more important in her life?

Simon suddenly felt his own insignificance in her life, and it crushed him.

Clary’s day had only gotten worse since then.

She messaged all the people from school in her contacts, asking if they knew anyone by the name of Jonathan Christopher Herondale. They congratulated her, but none of them had ever heard of him. She searched his name on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, even Tumblr, but there was no sign of the guy. Google turned up nothing. She finally had to admit that he had no online presence at all, which was weird, because she didn’t even know how a teenager could grow up without leaving any kind of internet trail. Finally, she searched for him in an old phonebook that had been hanging around the apartment for maybe a decade, and searched for Herondale.

Nothing.

She’d hoped to unearth a Facebook profile so she could go through his photos and maybe even send him a message if she felt particularly brave, but _nothing_.

And then, as if things weren’t already bad, her mother just had to make it all worse, by telling her that they would be going away for a while, to stay at Luke’s place in the country. Clary was, at first, a little concerned for her mother’s sanity, but when Jocelyn refused to budge when reminded of the approaching college year and commitments she’d made, Clary was angry.

For one, she was eighteen years old, to the day. She was too old to be blindly taking orders from her mother, or leaving the city according to her mother’s whims. She said no. She said she wouldn’t go. She’d stay with Simon, or move into student housing. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Jocelyn made it equally clear that this was not an option. She was to come with her and Luke, and that was the end of it.

Clary was through with putting up with her mother’s weird overprotectiveness.

A huge fight later, Clary was sitting on the curb outside her mother’s flat in a nice dress and her black heels (make-up and a hairbrush in her backpack), waiting for Simon to come get her. Upstairs, Jocelyn was making headway in her preparations and almost done packing her daughters clothes up into collapsable boxes. If Clary had been up there to see the boxes instead of just a suitcase each, she would have known that her mother had no intentions of their returning to their home in Brooklyn.

Sulk as she might, though, Clary knew she would get in the car the following morning and go, because she wasn’t strong enough to say no to Jocelyn when the woman had made her mind up about something. This only resolved her to make sure she had the best night of her life.

Jocelyn hadn’t wanted her to go, but she’d also known to quit while she was ahead. She didn't take any pleasure in being the one to snatch fun and innocence from her daughter’s life.

Simon, summoned by a string of insistent messages from Clary, collected her at nearly eight. They went to their favourite coffee place to waste some time. Simon wore his best jeans and a simple shirt, the sleeves rolled almost to his elbows. He’d put a little more effort than usual into his hair and the way it curled.

His glasses slipped and Clary pushed them up for him without even thinking. A friendship as old as theirs allowed a certain amount of familiarity, and she didn’t notice the way the gesture made Simon blush.

He was an expert, by now, of hiding his blush from Clary.

She felt a surge of emotion at the thought of leaving Simon behind in the city for whoever knows how long. She would miss him so much— more, even, than the fantasy of _Jonathan Christopher Herondale_ who would feel so far from her when she was gone from the city. She was feeling sentimental. She was feeling as though, at eighteen, she and Simon were different people than they’d been when they first met. Their future was uncertain, no matter the promises they made to each other.

Maybe she just felt this way because it was her birthday. Maybe she just felt this way because now she knew for certain she had a soulmate, and it made her feel weirdly (and suddenly) grown up. She wondered if she _looked_ older.

She decided it would be weird to ask Simon.

At ten, the shop was starting to close up. There’d been a poetry reading (the only reason they’d even been open so late), and now all the poets were gone and it was just Clary and Simon there in their glad rags, and the baristas were watching them moodily.

“Ready?” Simon asked, grinning in a way that brought more memories to the surface of her mind than she could decipher all at once. She grinned back and grabbed his hand, leading him outside.

* * *

 

Jace was in a ridiculously good mood when he bounded downstairs from the training room that morning and grabbed orange juice from the fridge, actually _humming_ under his breath. Alec felt a little like he was witnessing demonic possession, but when Jace did nothing to hurt him other than flashing him a senselessly beautiful smile, Alec had to understand.

He knew, really. There was only _one_ thing in the whole world that could made Jace Herondale this much of a fool. Alec felt numb head to toe as he offered as convincing a smile as possible.

“You got another name, huh?”

Jace was wearing a short sleeved t-shirt for the first time in years.

Alec had known Jace was never going to change his mind. A crossed out name on your wrist was about as final and irreversible as anything could be. But still. Still. Expecting something and seeing it there in ink on your soulmate’s wrist were very different things. Alec felt a little as though he’d taken a shot of Dahak venom to the bloodstream.

Jace was too happy to see that Alec’s smile was completely false. This was the in he’d been hoping for. In Jace’s world, nothing really felt real until he’d talked about it with his parabatai. At first his words were stilted— he was choosing them too carefully— but it didn’t take long for his sheer happiness to take over and loosen up all his bones.

“Here, look,” He said, moving closer to Alec. He stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder, and held up his wrist in front of Alec’s eyes.

Alec lost the ability to read for a moment.

All he was really able to concentrate on was his vicinity to Jace. Jace’s hand on his shoulder, his chest on his back, his chin brushing Alec’s hair. It was too much. After a moment, though, he managed to see the names there.

First, Alec’s own name there, crossed out.

And then, written in pretty, curling, girlish letters; _Clarissa Fairchild_.

Alec felt suddenly sick.

Clarissa’s hand had an artistic sort of care to it, like she’d once spent hours practicing the very slope and flow to her script. It seemed to highlight the carelessness of Alec’s hand, which was too long, too messy, too awkward. _Alexander Gideon Lightwood_ , taking up too much space on Jace’s lovely tan wrist. It was an eyesore, really.

Not like Clarissa Fairchild, who was bound to be loveliness incarnate.

Alec had to resist the urge to scorn her as he made the perfunctory compliments and congratulations.

Jace finally moved away, taking his wrist and his names with him.

“Shadowhunter name,” Alec said, as though that were a compliment in itself too. Jace took it as one, but there was something undecided in his smile.

“Yeah,” Jace said, and took a long sip from his glass. He sighed. “It’s just, I asked Robert and he said he’d never heard of a Clarissa Fairchild.”

Now that Jace brought it up, it did strike Alec as strange. He knew the Fairchild name (from reputation, at least) but he’d never heard of Clarissa. And there weren’t so many Shadowhunter teens in the city; they all knew each other at least by name.

Jace went on after a moments hesitation. “Maryse said she’d never heard of her, either, just mentioned a Jocelyn Fairchild. The last living of her family. The last one who could have even _had_ a child. But she’s meant to have died years ago?” Jace fidgeted before finally saying what was really bothering him. “Her husband had been Valentine Morgenstern.”

And then it was obvious. There was just one thing disrupting Jace’s perfect happiness.

“Your soulmate is Valentine’s daughter?” Alec said, before he could correct his judgemental tone.

Jace was quickly defensive. He nearly knocked his glass off the kitchen island in an aggressive, sweeping hand motion. “Children shouldn’t be punished for their parents’ crimes, Alec!”

Alec held up his hands, “I never said they should!”

Jace turned away for a moment, shoulders tense.

“At least you know her name!” Alec pointed out in an effort at kindness, though he didn’t understand why the task of cheering Jace up fell to _him_ , of all people. He wished Jace had a little more tact. He wished Jace could understand that Alec was the absolute _last_ person he should be talking to about soulmates.

When Jace turned back he looked almost as happy as he had when he’d first come downstairs. He was resolutely determined not to make any judgements on Clarissa’s character until he’d met her. She deserved the benefit of the doubt. And, besides, no one had seen her, ever. Her mother might’ve gone into hiding to escape the madman she married. Clarissa may not even _know_ who her father was.

That seemed perfectly likely.

More likely than Valentine having kept a daughter under lock and key all her life, a secret from the rest of the Shadow World.

“She could be anywhere. It might take a long time to find her.” Jace said, returning to the fridge and abandoning his glass to instead drink straight from the carton of orange juice. If there was anything Jace loved more than the idea of his perfect soulmate, it was the idea of a hunt for her. Painting himself a knight in shining armour and vowing not to rest until he had her in his arms.

Alec wished both that Jace would never find her and that he would find her as soon as possible. The pain of meeting Clarissa, of seeing her with her mutual soulmate, would hurt more than anything else ever could, but maybe it would help Alec to finally move on. Maybe then he could see Jace as just his friend again, his parabatai.

Izzy entered the room just then and saved Alec from having to say any more. Alec couldn’t think of a time he’d ever been more grateful to see her.

She was wearing a long white dress and wearing a white wig that looked ridiculous to Alec, but what did he know about fashion? Her whip was curled up around her forearm like jewellery. “Hey guys,” She said, jumping up onto the counter and crossing her legs. “We’ve got a job tonight.”

“Where?” Alec asked.

“Some club in Brooklyn. Its pretty popular with downworlders _and_ mundanes, which is really weird anyway. But, yeah. Illegal deals. Accord breaking stuff. Dad wants us to find the seller. We’ll have to extract as much information as possible before we send the scumbag back where he’s from.”

Jace grinned, “I take it we’re dressing the part?” He gestured at Izzy’s getup.

Izzy laughed, “You know I’m not about to give up an opportunity like this to dress up.” She stretched her arms up attractively and fluffed the false hair of her platinum blond wig.

“Well,” Jace said, turning towards the doorway, “I’d better go get dressed up too.” He swung round in the doorway to flash a smirk and a wink at Izzy. “Angel knows I won’t be overshadowed by the likes of you, Lightwood.” Izzy laughed again.

She turned her smiling face to Alec once they were alone but it didn’t last long. Now that Jace was gone, Alec let go of his pretence and allowed his shoulders to sink and his smile to drop. He sighed and leaned back in his chair till it wobbled on two legs.

“What’s up with you?” Izzy asked reluctantly.

He was too tired to lie to her.

“He’s got a new name.” Alec said bitterly, “Isn’t it great?” He leaned back a little further in the chair and it teetered dangerously. Izzy started at him in surprise. “A girl, too.” Alec said. “Clarissa Fairchild.” He dragged a hand through his hair; a nervous habit, and perhaps the reason for why it was always so disheveled and disorderly.

He leaned back further— too far. The chair started to fall and he made no effort to stop it. Izzy was there before the chair could fall more than halfway to the floor, though. She caught the top of it in her hands and pushed it back up. She hesitated a moment, hands on his shoulders, then hugged him. Her head on his shoulder, she sighed. “I’m sorry, Alec.” Alec wasn’t usually fond of hugs, but he sank into her embrace then, grateful for it. “You know,” She said after a moment, “someday it’ll happen for you, too.”

Alec scoffed aloud without meaning to. Knowing what he knew— that he was now two names down and completely hopeless of either of them working out well— he strongly doubted her hunch.

Izzy misinterpreted. “Alec, I know its hard for you, seeing Jace being… _himself_.” She laughed quietly. “But you’re great, and theres someone out there who won’t believe his luck when he gets you.” She squeezed her arms tighter around him, “Jace is an idiot, you know that. But someone else will get you and he won’t be so stupid as to ever give you up.”

She held on to him tight, wishing to protect him from all the hurt he couldn’t escape even in his own home. He was such a cautionary tale.

Alec almost told her the truth then, about Magnus.

He thought the better of it though and pulled himself from her arms. He got up. He tucked the chair back under the table. He looked at his hands and frowned. He made sure his sleeve was fully covering the names, while doing his best not to attract Izzy’s attention to them.

“I know Jace probably knocked your confidence a bit,” She smiled nervously, concern shining bright in her dark eyes, “A lot.” She looked at him with this serious attentiveness that made Alec’s wrist burn with guilt and shame for not telling her about Magnus. “But you really are great. You’re my brother, after all. Greatness is in our blood, you know.” She folds her arms.

Alec opens his mouth and is about to say it when Izzy pats him on the shoulder of his ratty jumper and tells him to go change into something nicer. “Go put on that blue jumper I got you, okay. You look good in that.”

Alec turns to go.

Izzy calls after him. “You’re okay, aren’t you?”

Alec hesitated. “I will be. Just don’t let Jace go on about the Fairchild girl to me, alright?” He attempts a smile, something like humour in his dark eyes, “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to bit my tongue.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hullo! sorry for the long, long wait. i hope this is okay. i'm gonna get started on the next chapter tomorrow so it shouldn't be too long of a wait! also, look forward to some saphael in the next chapter (or at least the humble beginnings of saphael) xx

If there is one thing that Alec is sure of, it’s that his team is good. They’re capable and calculated and practiced. Alec never feels more secure than when he’s working with his siblings, taking easy strides through the club and feeling all the anxiety and insecurity he’s plagued with slip away. His seraph blade fits perfectly in his grip, and the grooves feel so familiar and comforting under his fingers.

Right then, he isn't worrying about Magnus or Jace or anything in the world. He isn’t even worrying about the mission; he knows it’ll run smoothly- it always does. His body is centred, relaxed, focused. His only responsibility is the protection of his siblings. He watches their backs and nothing else. He doesn’t notice the eyes that follow him, or the whistles that call after him. Even if he’d heard them, he would have ignored them, believing them to be directed at his much more beautiful sister.

He looks around, scanning his surroundings for any possible threat. There are more Downworlders here than he’d expected, but none of them seem particularly aware of the nephilim in their midst. They’re too busy having a good time. Still, some of them follow the band of shadowhunters around the room with curious eyes. It isn’t _everyday_ you see a Shadowhunter, after all. There are plenty of mundanes around, too.

Izzy commands attention as she walks, hips swaying. She’s wearing a white outfit and a matching wig; Alec deemed the ensemble over the top and impractical. Jace’s clothes didn't look _much_ more practical, though. He was wearing tight jeans and an expensive shirt Izzy had bought for him. Alec rolled his eyes; he was the one who would have to listen to Jace whine after it had gotten covered in ichor. Both of them are too concerned with vanity, in Alec’s opinion. Alec is just wearing simple, dark gear that’s seen better days. Still, he knows both of them can do their jobs efficiently no matter what they wear. The pair of them prowl the club like lions stalking their prey.

They’re looking for a shapeshifter. It won’t be a difficult hunt, and it shouldn't take too long. Soon Alec will be back home, sulking in his room and wearing comfy pyjamas. Or sitting with his loved ones, faking a smile to save his family their concern.

Izzy suddenly jolts with shock and spins back, grabbing Alec’s hand. Alec is bewildered and stares, wide eyed. Izzy is practically bouncing on her heels, all thoughts of the mission gone from her mind. She leans close to whisper conspiratorially, “Okay, don’t look now, big brother,” She says in hushed tones, “But your soulmate is _right over there_.” She’s grinning, and it takes her a moment to notice the horror playing out on her brother’s features. She frowns worriedly, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

“He’s here?” Alec whispers. He looks around, not being even a little bit subtle, and sure enough, there he is. He recognises his face from photographs, and he’s sure he’d seen him visit the Institute when he was a kid. Magnus, as high warlock, had met with Maryse and Robert to discuss matters unbeknown to the young Lightwood boy.

Magnus looks _young_. Well, no, he looks older than Alec, but not by much. He’s shorter. But he’s more attractive than any of the models in Izzy’s magazines, and he’s grinning at something one of his friends just said. And he has so many friends. This is very intimidating to Alec, whose only friends are his siblings, who are sort of obliged to tolerate him.

He had these gorgeous yellow-green eyes that Alec never would have known he would find beautiful until that moment, and _wow_ , Alec never would have thought he’d be so into someone who wore so much glitter. Being someone most comfortable in old, baggy sweaters and varying shades of black, he never would have wanted to be with someone so… flamboyant. But he _does_ want to be with Magnus. _So much_.

He hadn't let himself think about it before, because he would never forget how bad it had hurt when Jace rejected him, and he was terrified that Magnus would put him through the same ordeal. But maybe it would somehow be _worse_ , because standing there in Pandemonium, he wanted it so badly.

Although, he hadn’t actually _spoken_ to the guy yet. They could have _nothing_ in common at all. He sighed. They probably didn't have anything in common. What would he- quiet, awkward and plain- have in common with Magnus Bane, who lived and breathed excitement and adventure. Someone like Magnus wouldn't be interested in someone like Alec. It hurt so bad to realise that, but he saw it as an inevitable truth.

 _I should just leave now_ , he thought to himself, _save myself the pain_.

He looked back at Izzy, who was watching with massive, anxious eyes, and knew that she would _never_ let him leave this place without introducing himself to the warlock. As always, she knew exactly what was going through his head- or, at least, she knew enough.

“Alec, you’re soulmates for a reason.” She said, “He’ll love you. Why wouldn't he?”

Alec tried to correct his posture, straightening his shoulders again. Feeling flustered and bitter, he spoke without any forethought, “Yeah? Jace was my soulmate, too, but he wasn't interested, was he?” Izzy sighed heavily, “Look, don’t worry. I’ll, er, say hi later. After we’ve finished up here.” He didn't finish his thought process- _hopefully he’ll have left by then_.

Just then, Jace returned to them. “What happened to you guys? I had to take out the shapeshifter and three demons on my own.” He was a little out of breath, and there was a smoking hole in his shirt. He patted it again with one hand and grimaced at the wound visible underneath. “Hey, Alec, _iratze_ me, would you?”

Before Alec could respond, Izzy had whipped out her own stele and was smiling widely, a plan already in mind. “Let me. Alec has some introductions to make.” She clapped her brother on the shoulder, “Off you go, then. We’ll survive without you for a bit.”

Alec blushes and looks away, gripping the strap of his quiver tightly. He shifts awkwardly on his feet for a moment, ignoring Jace’s curious look. Izzy ignores him, too. She doesn't know how much Alec wants to tell him about his new name yet, and she doesn't want to say the wrong thing. Instead, she busies herself by yanking Jace closer and pulling up his sleeve. Jace winced as the burning began, and Alec decided now was as good a time as any to face possible rejection.

With a deep breath, he stepped away from his comfort zone, his siblings. With every step, he got closer to the absolute opposite to safety. He got closer to his anxiety and insecurity. He wasn't far from Magnus Bane when he remembered that his second soulmate was surrounded by friends. _Oh, no_ , he thinks to himself, stopping immediately. _What do I do now? I can’t just go up to him in front of all his friends, can I? Oh, by the Angel, this is a disaster._

He turns, intending on returning to Jace and Izzy, but then he catches Izzy’s gaze. She’s stopped drawing the rune for a second to make sure Alec is actually going through with this. She narrows her eyes on him, and Alec knows that going back is no longer an option. With another deep breath, he turns back to Magnus. He’s about to head over to the vague _area_ where Magnus is, when he notices that Magnus is watching him. And then he can’t move at all. All he can do is stare back.

* * *

 

Magnus finds himself rapt, watching this handsome stranger stride through his club with such determination one moment, and then crumble with doubt the next. He doesn't know why at first, but he wants to approach the man. He wants to assure him that it’s fine, it’s okay, it’s fantastic. Magnus is filled with questions for all of a few seconds, and then it all adds up.

 _Alexander Gideon Lightwood_.

Of course.

He recognises the feeling now. He’d experienced it all that time ago, with Imasu Morales, and again when he first met Camille Belcourt. Maybe it was the knowledge that this was the last one- his last chance at true, romantic bliss- but this time it felt so much stronger. He stared at the man, already enamoured, and he forgot about all his concerns- about _but how would a relationship with a shadowhunter work?_ and _but what if he’s disgusted by me?_

All that mattered were those eyes, and that face, and those tense shoulders. Magnus wanted to be by his side, whispering quiet assurances that it was okay, that he was safe, that he was wanted. He didn't know how he knew that Alexander needed to hear these things, but he did. He knew it was of vital importance that Alexander was informed of how much Magnus wanted him.

Magnus was sitting amid a group of his friends- well, no, acquaintances really- but they didn't matter at all anymore. Magnus didn't want to be with them anymore. For all their cultured, intelligent, entertaining conversation, they didn't mean half as much to Magnus now as they had a few moments ago.

The girl on his left followed his gaze and shook her head, irritated, “Shadowhunters, huh?” She said with thinly veiled distaste in her voice, “They’ve got a lot of nerve, showing up here. We ought to remind them to keep their distance.” She shot Magnus a mischievous look, but she had misunderstood him.

Magnus definitely did _not_ want Alexander Gideon Lightwood to keep any distance at all. He wanted to be as close as possible to this particular child of Raziel. It was still strange to know that his soulmate was a shadowhunter; Magnus couldn't decide whether it was ironic, cruel, romantic, or all three. Whatever. He didn't care. All he wanted was to approach this man and find out, once and for all, if they had any chance.

It was clear that Alexander had been on his way over, but he’d lost his nerve, but wanting to approach Magnus Bane when he was surrounded by his entourage. Magnus decided to help the guy out. He stood abruptly. The girl on his left looked surprised, and then eager to see what the High Warlock of Brooklyn had in store for these wayward shadowhunters.

She was about to be sorely disappointed.

As Magnus approached the man, he committed this moment to memory. He would always remember meeting Camille in London in 1857, and thinking she was was spectacular. He would always remember meeting Imasu in Peru in 1890 and thinking he was delightful. He would always remember reuniting with Camille sometime in 1980’s, and hoping that they would fare better this time around. He’d been naive to think he and Camille would ever really work out. But Magnus knows that this is another of those moments; one he’ll carry with him through the rest of his life.

Long after Alexander has left him, he’ll recount this first meeting, and how the shadowhunter hadn't been able to tear his eyes away, just as hopeless and mesmerised as Magnus. He would never forget, though, that Alexander had been so nervous, his entire body had been rigid. Magnus had been frightened, too, aware that so much depended on this moment, on this first impression he gave. He’d been afraid Alexander would turn and bolt out of the club and never look back. He was a _shadowhunter_ , after all. Magnus was well acquainted with their kind, and how they often regarded Downworlders with uncaring brutality. Magnus was scared Alexander would be one of _those_ Nephilim; someone who would only ever be ashamed of Magnus. He was scared he would accept that if that was all Alexander would deign to offer.

But Alexander would never be so cruel. He was just a man. He didn't see himself as an elite member of a higher society, like so many other shadowhunters often imagined themselves to be. He seemed to think of himself as no better than Magnus. It became immediately clear that Alexander was just as afraid of rejection as Magnus was, and Magnus had the decency to feel guilty for how much this eased his nerves.

So close to Alexander, Magnus became aware of just how intimidatingly attractive this man was. Then he saw Alexander swallow nervously, and he saw how big and uncertain his eyes were, and Magnus felt a surge of that desire to assure Alexander that all was good again. They were silent for a moment, just looking at one another and wondering who would speak first. The anticipation was killing Magnus. Eventually, he decided to just do the chivalrous thing and bite the bullet.

“You must be Alexander,” Magnus said gently, his yellow-green eyes growing fonder as the seconds passed. Magnus doesn't look away for a moment- partly because this man was among the most beautiful people Magnus had ever met, but also because he was scared Alexander would vanish. He’s staring at Magnus with this lovely shock, lips just slightly parted and dark eyes wide. His hair is a dark mess atop his head. Magnus doesn’t even attempt to control his grin.

Alexander blushes and drops his gaze, but he doesn't move away. Magnus realises with giddiness that Alexander is smiling now, too, and when he returns his eyes to Magnus’, he looks a little less alarmed. “Alec.” He corrects, then licks his lips, painfully nervous. Magnus feels like he can actually see the raw energy rushing through Alexander’s veins, making him shuffle in place and bite his lip and question every decision that has led to this moment. It’s endearing, and, honestly, a relief. He’d been _so_ scared his soulmate would refuse to even speak to him before rejecting him out of ridiculous shadowhunter pride. “You’re Magnus Bane.” He says, eyes dropping to scan Magnus’ outfit: the velvet jacket adorned with little silver ornaments, the skinny leather trousers. His eyes rise back to Magnus’ head- to the blue glitter in his dark hair, and the obvious make-up, and the jewellery. Thankfully, he doesn’t look put off in the slightest.

“I prefer Alexander,” Magnus replied, “But Alec is lovely, too.” Even at that, Alec blushes again and his smile broadens self-consciously. “And yes, Magnus Bane, at your disposal.” Magnus lets his eyes roll over his soulmate’s outfit, too, with leaves much to be desired. Still, he supposes it’s practical. Alec is there on the job, he reminds himself. Still, his gear shows off an excellent pair of legs, and that sweatshirt is oddly endearing.

Alec extends one hand, raising a dark brow, “May I?” He’s somewhat flustered. Magnus is confused but he tries not to show it as he holds out his hand. With a gentle grip, Alec turns his hand over to look at his wrist. Or, rather, to look at the names there. His breath catches a little at the sight, clearly surprised to see three names; three of them, two crossed out. Alec is silent for a moment, and then he lets go of Magnus’ hand. Magnus feels a little cold at the sudden lack of contact.

He asks the obvious question, sure he already knows the answer, “Am I your first?”

Alec paused for a few seconds, looking anxious, then shakes his head. Curious, Magnus raises a brow and holds out a hand, imitating his soulmate. Alec offers up his wrist, already facing up. There are two names on his wrist. Magnus’ own name is inscribed in a neat print, but the first name has already been crossed out. ~~_Jonathan Christopher Herondale_~~ _._ Magnus is surprised. Alec is so young to already have loved and lost. With a sudden sympathy, he remembers his soulmate’s profession, and the dangers that go along with it. His throat feels very tight as he speaks, “Did he…” He trails off, eyes wide and apologetic, not wanting to rub salt in any wounds.

Alec is staring at his own wrist as he replies, “He isn't dead. He’s right over there.” He looks up and nods in the direction of a blond guy who’s arguing with a dark haired girl not far away. Alec catches Magnus’ eyes again and blushes. “It just, er, didn't go anywhere. He wasn't interested.”

Magnus frowns and speaks without any forethought, “I can’t imagine why,” He says earnestly, and he’s relieved to see a small smile growing on his soulmate’s face. He can already tell that he’ll soon be willing to do anything to make this guy smile. Maybe he would already do anything to achieve such an end, because he finds himself delving into his past before he even realises he’s doing it. “You can talk to me about it, if you want? When you feel comfortable enough around me. I’ve had my fair share of unsuccessful relationships, after all. Imasu got tired of me, thought I was too ephemeral, and Camille was… complicated. We didn't work together. I find that most Immortals are fairly complicated.”

In the silence following his words, Magnus wonders if he’s said too much. Really, he’s _just_ met this guy, and he’s already told him against his failed relationships; does he _want_ Alexander to take off running?

But then Alec is speaking again. He rushes through his words, like he wants to get them out before he loses the courage to voice them. He’s flustered and shifting on his feet again. “Jace just wasn’t… into guys, I guess. He got a new name today, actually. _She_.” Alec bit his lip and tried to focus on the living, breathing soulmate in front of him- the one who was interested. Romantically speaking, Jace was in his past. It was time he got used to that. “But anyway, that doesn't matter. _You_ matter.” He speaks so bluntly, Magnus feels himself blush. The words repeat over and over again in his head and he loves them; _You_ matter, _you_ matter, _you_ matter. “I’d like to get to know you, Magnus. If you want that.”

He looks like he’s bracing himself for a rejection, and Magnus wonders just how much of a number this _Jace_ guy did on Alec. Magnus smiles and reaches forward, taking Alec’s hand and squeezing it reassuringly, “I’d love that, Alexander.” Alec’s eyes are bright and surprised and still scared, but no more than Magnus is. Anyone would be a little scared. More than anything, though, Alexander looks happy, and that sends a rush of exhilaration through Magnus’ entire body.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! please leave a comment, i'd love to hear what you thought :)


	5. Chapter 5

Simon feels out of place. He feels over looked, and he doesn't feel half as cool as anyone else in the room. All around him, beautiful people are having a great time, but Simon is sulking alone at the bar. He’s been there for maybe an hour now. He wants to go home, but he also doesn’t want to leave without Clary. So he’s waiting for her as he nurses a beer. He tries his best to ignore all the people pressing in on him; the bright lights and the dirty surfaces and the people making out too near to him. 

For a while, he’d felt okay- hopeful, even. He’d reminded himself that some people didn't meet their soulmates for years. Getting a name didn't mean anything had to change- not right away, anyway. Not yet. He still has time with her before someone else becomes the only person who matters in her world. He’d left her with a promise of grabbing them some drinks. He’d offered to go partly because the strobe lights and loud music was giving him a headache, and the bar seemed a little more subdued, but also because he felt bad for being so weird earlier. It was her birthday, and he’d avoided her. So he wanted to do something nice for her. She’d been happy to let him go alone, having such a good time on the dance floor.

She’d grinned and watched him go, and he had walked backwards just so he could keep looking at her. He tried to swallow down the resentment building in his chest; _why can’t she be mine?_

“Hey, watch where you're going, kid,” An irritated voice spoke up as Simon bumped into him. Blushing, he turned around. He shouldn't have been walking backwards. That was a stupid thing to do in such a busy club. He got a look at the guy; perfectly styled, dark hair, dark eyes, immaculate brows. He wore a suit that was probably worth more than the entire contents of Simon's wardrobe. He was so handsome that Simon had difficulty finding his words immediately, and by the time he was cohesive enough to apologise, the guy had rolled his eyes and stalked off.

And so Simon had continued on his way to the bar. And then he’d waited for ages to get served. The barman seemed to only want to serve the pretty girls, and Simon was beginning to wonder whether it would have been a better idea to send Clary instead. After fifteen minutes of being blatantly ignored, he glanced back over his shoulder to check on Clary. He’s sure she must have been watching the whole time, holding back laughter. He’ll roll his eyes but smile anyway, and she’ll start dancing again, or she’ll come over and wait with him. But when he looked back, she wasn’t where he’d left her. He tried not to let it bother him.

He scanned the room a few times, knowing he’d feel better once he knew she was fine and safe, but then he saw her, and he didn't feel any better really. She was still dancing, bouncing around. She's not a very good dancer, but there’s something endearing about that. The blonde she’s dancing with seems to agree. He’s grinning and holding her hands and Simon watches as the guy twirls her effortlessly; she giggles and goes with it. They’re looking at each other like idiots, and Simon wishes he could be an idiot with her like that.

He looks back at Clary now and feels his heart fall again. She’s still with _him_ , beaming at everything he says and laughing at his jokes and blushing whenever he offers a compliment. There’s a gross, ugly jealousy building up inside, and he hates it. He wishes he could just be happy for his best friend. _She_ would be happy, if it were the other way around. Clary’s great, and she deserves to be happy. She deserves to be with her soulmate. 

It’s so obvious, it hurts.

It’s _him_. Her soulmate.

Simon had left her alone for fifteen minutes and she’d found her soulmate.

And her soulmate… he’s everything Simon had feared he would be; smooth and handsome and confident. He says something and the smirk on his face reminds Simon of Kirk Duplesse from high school. That bully with the square jaw. He had to fight the impulse to rush over and steal Clary away. But Clary looked happy. So Simon decided to leave them be. He’d only embarrass himself by rushing in anyway.

Maybe the part that hurt the most about seeing Clary’s soulmate was seeing how the guy appeared to be Simon’s opposite.

Simon feels disappointed. He’d known this day would come eventually, but he’d thought he would have more time to prepare himself. He thought he would be able to stop loving her by then. And he knows it isn't real love- _it can’t be_ , because he doesn't have her name printed on his wrist. And that pisses him off so much, too, because if anyone could make Clary happy, it was him. If anyone would go to the ends of the earth for her, it was him. But the universe or some deity or something had decided that he wasn't good enough, so he would never get a chance to prove himself worthy. Who trusts their gut when they can just trust their wrist?

When he turned back to the bar, he must have looked especially pitiful, because the barman finally served him. He just ordered a beer. He couldn't go and take her a drink now, could he?

“God, I’m pathetic,” He mumbled under his breath.

“What makes you say that, darling?” A voice asks on his left, and he actually jumps. Spinning in his seat, he sees that an elegant woman is sitting there, looking entirely unconcerned. She has that look that Simon associates with Immortals; that cool, unfazed expression. It’s the kind of expression you can only really nail after you’ve lived a couple centuries, when nothing really surprises you anymore.

“Oh, er, sorry.” Simon said, blushing, “Don’t worry. It’s nothing.”

The woman is so far out of his league, he doesn't quite know why she's talking to him. He wonders if this is a joke, if her friends are snickering in amusement somewhere nearby. But the woman doesn’t _look_ like the type to make dumb jokes and pick on mortals for no good reason, so Simon tries his best to smile convincingly.

She leans closer, her dark hair falling like a heavy curtain over one shoulder, effectively blocking out the rest of the club as she moved closer to Simon. “Why don’t you come with me?” She asks, pressing a kiss to Simon’s neck.

Simon is blushing even more now, and he feels flustered beyond belief. _Is this woman for real?_ He wonders why she can’t see that he just wants to drown his sorrows in peace. He’s about to voice this in as sensitive a phrasing as possible, but then he feels scratches against his neck, and he gasps. He’d assumed she was an immortal, but it suddenly became abundantly clear what type she was. _A vampire_. It was only a little bite, but it was enough to make Simon lose his senses a little. He leaned closer, gasping as the woman pressed a gentle kiss against the bite she’d just given him.

“Come on, darling, what do you say?”

Simon doesn't say anything. He just nods and lets her lead him away from the bar. She’s holding his hand and Simon feels giddy and nervous and uncertain, but he also feels like he doesn’t want to displease her. In that moment, he’s sure he would do anything she asked of him.

* * *

Simon wakes in the morning and he’s never felt so strange, so out of it. His head is throbbing and he can’t remember what had happened the night before. And he doesn't know where he is. And he’s naked. There’s something deeply unsettling about being naked somewhere unfamiliar. He sits up. He’s in a massive, expensive-looking bed. Dark red silk sheets protect his modesty, but he pulls them up higher anyway, all the way up to his chin.

He finds his glasses on the bedside table and puts them on.

No one else is around. He’s alone. But then he hears the shower running and assumes whoever he went home with is in the bathroom. That’s okay. Actually, that’s sort of great. This way, he can sneak out without any awkward encounters. He gets up quickly, finding his clothes already folded up and set down on an antique wooden chair across the room. He pulls his boxers and jeans on hurriedly, feeling much more comfortable knowing that he won’t have to face anyone in the nude.

It’s only as he pulls on his t-shirt that he notices something.

A name.

_Huh_ , he thinks to himself, _that’s kind of neat, I guess_.

He still feels groggy from whatever happened the night before. It takes him a moment to actually realise what this means. But then it sinks in and his knees suddenly feel weak. _A name_. _His first name_. He holds his wrist up to his eyes, too close, and then holds it a little further away to read. And, oh, fuck. He didn't even know this was possible. He’d never heard of this happening before.

But the proof is right there, on his wrist.

_Two names_. The first one says _Isabelle Sophie Lightwood_. The second says _Raphael Santiago_. A girl and a guy. Simon isn't surprised by the genders; he’s identified as pansexual for a while now. What he’s surprised by is the number of names. Simon had thought people only ever got one name at a time. What was he supposed to do with this information? Pick one? Make them fight it out?

Feeling anxious and a little suffocated, he shrugged on his hoodie. Honestly, it was kind of a relief to not have to look at the names.

He quickly makes his way through the apartment. It’s intimidatingly nice. He’s in the kitchen when he runs into someone. It surprises him and he feels himself start to blush. So much for a clean break. The guy isn’t facing him. He’s grabbing something from the fridge. Simon stands there awkwardly, figuring it would be rude to just make a run for it. 

“Er, hi, morning.” Simon said as brightly as he could given his painful headache.

The man turned and Simon’s eyes widened when he saw the blood bag in his hands. _I can’t believe I slept with a vampire last night_ , he thinks. The guy blinks at him, confused and irritated. “Can I help you?”

_Okay, wow, I slept with a_ ** _rude_** _vampire last night_.

“I just woke up. I’m gonna head out now.” Simon said gesturing over his shoulder.

The guy nodded, expression still blank. “Okay…” He said, bored already.

A thought suddenly hits Simon; should he feel guilty for sleeping with someone last night? He has _two_ soulmates out there. They might be looking for him, and he was sleeping with some fourth party jerk. In all fairness, though, he hadn't known about them last night. He hopes that gets him off the hook.

Actually, Simon is starting to feel a little indignant. He probably had sex with this guy, and now, what? He was just gonna treat Simon like some loser who’d wandered in off the street? That wasn’t fair. Simon deserved at least a bit of respect. Not to mention, Simon was having a really bad- or at least confusing- morning. So he decided to stick the kettle on. He wasn’t leaving before he’d had some coffee.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t remember your name.” Simon said.

The guy doesn't respond for a moment, and then he sighs heavily as if Simon is nothing more than a colossal waste of his time. “I think you’re confused. We didn't sleep together last night. Camille probably brought you back here.”

Simon blinks back at him, “Oh.” That’s embarrassing.

“You should probably get out of here before she’s done with her shower. You might not like her in the light of day.” The guy leans back against the kitchen counter, opening his blood bag without even looking at it. He was clearly a practiced hand. He turned to grab a glass from a cupboard and poured the blood out. Simon found it interesting, to see how a vampire operated in his own home.

“So, you’re like Camille’s… roommate?” Simon asked, still waiting for the hot water to finish boiling. He would leave _after_ coffee. How bad could this woman possibly be?

“In a matter of speaking.” The vampire replied easily, taking a sip from his glass. “This is a sort of… _hotel_. A lot of us live here.” _Us_ , Simon thought. It suddenly struck him that he was standing in a vampire lair… _a vampire hotel_. Maybe coffee wasn't such a great idea.

“I think I’ll just go…” Simon said.

“That’s probably a good idea.” The guy smirked in a way that made Simon wish he _had_ slept with him the night before. God, that smirk made him wish he could sleep with this guy _right now_. Blushing again, Simon looked away.

“Okay, well, bye, I guess.” Simon said, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. He turned to leave, but just then a beautiful woman in a silk dressing gown entered the room. She looked at Simon in a way that made him feel deeply uncomfortable; like a toy or a funny little pet. Amusing but replaceable. simon wished he had left when the vampire guy told him he should. Coffee had _definitely_ been a bad idea.

“Look who’s up and dressed,” The woman said, smirking. “Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?” She bit her lip seductively, though she really just wanted to show him her weapon of choice; her sharp, lethal fangs.

Simon staggered back, “Oh, er, sorry, I just- uh. I didn’t want to outstay my welcome!”

The woman- _Camille_ \- advanced on him, with speed and grace only a vampire could possess. Simon staggered back but soon found his back against the wall. Panic setting in, he looked around for a weapon, but he saw nothing on the counters, and Camille was closing in.

“Camille, don’t you think you have enough to be dealing with?” The guy said loudly, still sounding bored out of his mind. “How do you think the clave will respond when they learn that you’ve taken a mundane hostage in the hotel?” Camille turned to look at the guy, and Simon watched him over her shoulder. He’d never been more grateful to anyone, ever. Camille looked less pleased, but the guy continued. “Personally, I would rather _not_ lose my head thanks to your latest piece.”

Simon blushed again and looked away. Okay, so he _was_ a jerk, but still Simon had a feeling that this guy was his best chance at getting out of this place anytime soon.

Camille scowled, “Fine.” She made a show of leaving the room, her hips swaying. Simon relaxed as soon as she’d vanished from sight.

“Thank you.” Simon said, relief making his heart flutter. He was moving towards the guy before he’d even decided to.

The guy rolled his eyes, “You mean nothing. I’m just looking out for my people.”

Simon's smile doesn't falter, “Well, okay, but thanks anyway. Bye.”

And he leaves. He’s glad to get away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this is okay :) next chapter coming soon! let me know what you thought!
> 
> also. i've realised that simon blushes at, like, everything in this fic.


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